Hel's Bells
by The Miffed Writer
Summary: Maleficent had given up hope to ever find her son again after he was stolen from Jotunheim.
1. Chapter 1

**This was a prompt on the Norsekink, and I fell in love with it.**

 _It was a brief romance, all told- if it could even be called such a thing- she didn't expect anything to come from it but physical gratification and, perhaps, brief companionship. After all, the Frost Giant King was already mated, and Maleficent's heart still ached from Stefan's betrayal._

 _The Frost Giants had come to the Moors seeking the assistance of the Warrior Fairy Maleficent- direct descendant of the Vanir royal family (though not a legitimate heir), whose name was tinged with respect and fear throughout the realms by then. Her magic was legendary, although her wings were gone._

 _Laufey had wanted help- they were in the midst of a war, and it was taking toll on their planet. In exchange for her assistance, they would leave the Moors and its allies alone in their conquest, hers alone to rule- a truly independent kingdom, as it had always been._

 _Unable to know what she was working with, without actually seeing the world they spoke of, or its conditions, Maleficent was brought to Jotunheim._

 _The King was entranced by her- even without her wings, she was lovely to look at. The cold had no effect on her, only iron and salt did. Those things were a rare commodity on the planet. She saw their desperation behind their cold exterior, and didn't mind the king's gaze. Instead, she tried to explain._

 _"We had magic once." The king admitted._

 _"What happened to it?"_

 _"Our ancestors fought a war they could not win- they drew too much magic from the ice. They channeled it into the Casket of Ancient Winters."_

 _"The device you use in war?"_

 _"It is both a weapon and a means of sustaining life- without it, Jotunheim would wither away."_

 _The Frost Giants aren't barbarians, despite what the Aesir think- they are a people disheartened by their heritage, their environment, by their prospects, and by the rule of Asgard. They can be cruel. But barbarians they are not- they have customs and rituals and culture. Maleficent find it interesting._

 _Diaval, disheartened by the ice, returns to Midgard, to the Moors and to his spying on King Stefan._

 _They lay together only a handful of times- Laufey and Maleficent- but they are burned into her mind. He runs his hands over her shoulder blades, the ugly scars where her wings once her, soothing the burn that is always present, numbing it, even._

 _She knows the moment that the seed quickens within her and the babe is formed, it's magic (too young to know the gender then) blending and borrowing smoothly from her own, turning the golden glow a deep forest shade._

 _Laufey ensures her care- though there is little his healers can do. She knows her own body better then they, and they eventually reached an agreement that they would be available should she need them._

 _Her belly grows, and she makes strides in improving the crop seeds that the frost giants need to survive._

 _The war drags on, and the paths to Midgard are unsafe now._

 _"It's for the best," she tells the king. "Should I give birth there the babe might not be suited for the warmth."_

 _She tells Laufey that the babe is a boy, and she almost sees the stoic king smile._

 _They talk of what to do- the boy is a bastard. He cannot, by most rights, rule. He has two older brothers, trueborn ones at that, ahead of him to begin with._

 _"Should you choose to take the boy to the Moors, you must inform him of his other parentage."_

 _Maleficent readily agrees._

 _She births the boy in low winter, on the darkest night of the year by midgardian time- it is a relatively easy birth, all things considered, and she needs no assistance other than a healer to ensure that the babe breathes after she gains control of herself._

 _The boy is bald, and his skin shifts according to who holds him- one moments soft and pink and the next blue and scarlet eyed, blubbering quietly as she cradles him to her._

 _He is warm, so warm- fire could dance in his blood. But so light and small._

 _"Loptr." She whispers, and the baby laughs._

 _X_

 _War comes to them within the next day, and the frost giants driven back by the Aesir and the All father._

 _Laufey had hidden them- rather than lose such an ally and his son, and possible heir, he had them seperated. She was too tired to protest anything but weakly, and then she slept._

 _She woke to a world in shambles and her son missing._

 **For the record, Loki was, in mythology, a fire deity, and he had a multitude of names, including Loptr.**


	2. Chapter 2

Loki knows, even at a young age, that someone searches for him.  
His Mother teaches him magic, shows him how, while he may not be strong, he's fast, he is clever, and unlike Thor, he can spin any lie that passes from his lips into the truth with hardly any effort. But his magic is different from hers- her eyes don't glow, and there is never the faintest shiver of dust at her dust when she casts, not like him.  
He is raised in the palace of Asgard, the golden realm of the 9, home of the Aesir and the Allfather, and yet, it never feels like home. Among the golden halls and warriors in armor, he longs for grass and serenity. Only his Mother understands his desire, and ascribes it to having more Vanir in his blood than Thor and tells him not to worry (he notices the way that she watches him, though, like she's trying to understand something).  
He is curious and mischievous from the start, and has a natural talent for finding things he shouldn't.  
Like secret doors to other realms.  
His first realm is Vanaheim- he falls in love with the songs and the still forest pools and the laughter. But soon enough, it isn't ENOUGH for him. Peacefulness is equal to stagnancy, and that smacks too much of Asgard. Unlike the Aesir, the Vanir use their immortality to watch life, having had their fill already.  
It's maddening.  
Chaos is what he's made for, Loki realizes, and moves on from Vanaheim, searching out other openings to more realms.  
Moons turn, and Loki grows older.  
He finds more ways to slip away unnoticed in the shadow of his brother, and grows bolder, staying away for longer periods of time.  
On one of these, he finds himself in a marketplace on Midgard.  
He rather likes it there; these tiny mortals with no concept of their short life span, who are so easy to trick and manipulate.  
The market is crowded with mortals- shouting, laughing, crying, talking, screaming, eating, selling and buying. Loki wanders amongst the crowd, pickpocketing various items and causing trouble.  
The sky is blue, birds are singing, and the streets are filled with filth and noise.  
It's perfect.  
But...something is off…  
There is magic in some of the things that are for sale, little tiny bits of it, admittedly, but it is there. When Loki examines the objects, using his own, he notes the distinct colors; multiple mages with distinct magical presences ahd worked on many of these, and it was fascinating.  
"Pardon me?" He inquired to the toothless hag minding the stall.  
"How might I help you today sir?" Well, at least manners weren't lost to the woman. Come to think of it, everyone seemed...somewhat cheerful. Loki realized that nothing of the sort was like that elsewhere he'd been in the realm.  
"I've been wondering, where did this lute come from? It's so lovely, but I've never seen it made with such intricate detail?"  
The woman laughed, before retrieving a pipe from her pocket and lighting it. "Oh, right you'd be. None in the world can match Queen Aurora's realm!"  
"Is that so?"  
"Oh of course! Since her father's passing, there's been nothing but good terms with the Moors! Many of the things you've been so admiring come from there, made by the faeries."  
It doesn't take much to get her talking, and Loki hears the abbreviated history of relations between the kingdom and the Moors in less than half an hour (granted, the story was interrupted by digressions, but Loki was skilled at steering her back onto the subject).  
He decides that it wouldn't be remiss to investigate the so-called Moors, and find out just what sort of creatures might live there to craft such interesting pieces.


End file.
